The delineation between loving someone versus being in love with someone is bullshit.
What you actually mean is that you don’t hold romantic and/or sexual feelings for a person.
And pretending that “in love” is some kind of permanent state is a harmful practice. It negates most relationships. Causes grief and pain and destroys families.
“In love” should be used to mean that not only are you romantically linked, but also that you will do the real work of maintaining and building your relationship(s) so that the state of “in love” can be achieved.
This desperate seeking for a “spark” is ridiculous. Sparks are fleeting and while they can kindle a flame, it is but one way in which a fire is created.
People are all looking for a thunderbolt but a fire built from steady constant work will burn just as hot and instead of that instant destruction, can build.
And some of us are nuclear fires born of stars, we need other stars to be happy. But really, any person who hasn’t hardened their heart, can become a star.
To build and build lasting and out lasting a mortal span.
I suppose I’m just tired of the limits people place on their hearts. I understand caution. Hells, I understand a sharp blade at the right time. But still, we could be less foolish with our phrasing. Words build us. Give us a framework to assault reality.
And yes, if someone advances on you unwanted, well then remember that sharp knife I mentioned?
Drop sand distant to a tune made melody
Pounding counterpoint to soft gasps
Quiet bitten lip moans
Being quiet for too thin walls
Open to the endeavors of pain
Break wave and skin taught
Beads of sweat
Cold in the rooms still air
Even in passions throws
Small towel and soft cover
Cutting out cold
Taking fierce care while being taken
Into ear the growl of
And thus I’m lost again
No trick of the light
To have a heart full of stars
Grown in reflection to your love
Leave the taste of you on waking
Tongue ache in remembrance
Hands pressed to lips
Savoring a memory of yet to be
Waking in I love you
Mind flying the miles
A promise to keep you
Safe within my arms
As safe as you desire
Love is layered
Built day by day
Until the inevitable bloom of forever
Love is layered
Hurts day by day
Until the inevitable decay of forever
Love is choice
Made with care and deliberation
What we feel may be immutable
But feelings are not love
They are but a single layer
It is in the accumulation
In the choice
Where truth lives
And I write of love because we are so distant now
Steeped in love
But so far away
It’s a pain that grows
Briefly assuaged by words on the screen
And the need which gnaws at the
I no longer yearn for a past I can never have. For a life given up, no matter how much my semi-worrying off hand comments may make it seem otherwise. I want things now just out of my reach. Things in my life and in my future. Which sometimes seem so far away. However, I know that they are not. Nevertheless, I can’t keep from straining forward. As if attempting to reach that last inch to that last leaf, so far above my head.
It is still good to acknowledge though. That that darkness in me will never flee, though now they are merely half serious jokes. That I once loved deeply. That I again love deeply. That what was will never be again. And that’s ok. What is, is much better than an ephemeral dream. No matter how beautiful.
consent to my lips
brushed gently across your skin
there is only us
Why is BDSM presented as a thing of violence?
I don’t understand that. It has never been my experience that I felt violent. I’ve felt control. Like a violin string stretched taught and vibrating with tension. But it’s a tension not waiting for violence, but for action. Yes, sometimes that action is one of force. Of the infliction of pain. But never against the desire of my partner. My treasure. My submissive.
Submission is an act of trust and love. Dominance is an act of trust and love. That it presents as violence is gross misrepresentation. The feeling I have when my submissive says Yes Sir. Or just uses my name, if in public. That feeling has nothing to do with violence. Yes, it’s ownership. But they own me equally. They give me their submission. A greater gift cannot be made. I give them my control and bend my every action to make them safe and joyous. Whatever form that joy and desire takes.
BDSM is NOT violence. If it ever is, then it is abuse.
I cannot emphasize that enough. It makes me feel sick to think that people are hurting others in the guise of BDSM. Even when it’s just play and not lifestyle, it is still based on trust and pleasure and consent.
It drives me crazy.
I’m one part shattered heart, one part battered soul
Three parts protective, two parts sexy times.
I’m a clock wound so tightly for so long that I’ll never quite spring back. A timepiece built of hours devoted to love but in the silent lonely, to tears.
I’m a disciple of science and a priest of storm. I see no reason to deny gods; just to fight them. I believe in the philosophy of the human spirit and am woefully disappointed in its apparent lack. I know what it is to live without wanted human touch and what it is to drown in its addiction. I am always uncertain how my dreams and love will be received. So I will second guess and apologize, leaving you wondering if I really had done something wrong. When I love, it’s forever. And while that seems romantic, there are places in me reserved for loves which will never be. Places filled with longing and pain and almost and maybe. I am tears shed without regard to propriety or place. I feel and I will not apologize. If that makes you think less of me then I no longer require or respect your opinion. I am strength in weakness, bravery in fear, and hope without cause. But I am also unexpected fragility and hide myself in talk of blood. No one looks too deeply when they can’t be sure of the answer. I am wishes unfulfilled and wishes granted. But some wishes can never be. No matter how much you need them.
I am soft opinion and persuasive thought. And secrets never to be told, and secrets yearning to be believed. I feel old and look young. Stress makes me sexual, it doesn’t cause wrinkles. Silve hairs since I was twenty but deep brown for all that. If I were rich I’d be less wealthy because taking care of my people is my priority. I’d help them build lives of joy if I had the means. I am a shout made for joy. Of love. Of ownership. Of mine. But respectful of consent, I remain silent. I am pleasure made pain and pain made pleasure. I am two divergent and equally held beliefs.